Click. Click. Click.

  Raven clicked her pen, hand on her face, whilst staring at her heaps of messy notes. It was hard to know where to begin. The city’s many sewage passages and decrepit buildings were detailed in an unorganized heap of graphs and charts. After so many hours of research, the words and charts and diagrams blended together into one unclear mass. If Raven had someone to help, then this would be far easier. Like that scholar from the other day. He seemed kind, if confused. Though he was certainly nicer than the heaps of pretentious ones out there. It didn’t even have to be him. Just someone. Though of course Raven couldn’t have that. The mission was hers alone, because her mother deemed it fitting for a gifted Blackwell to defeat Terran in combat once again.

  Click. Click. Click.

  And then the fights happened. Both times, Raven had had him. She could have finished it. Yet Terran slipped past both times. Worse yet, she got humiliated in the process. The papers didn’t even know of the second fight. If they knew she had lost, and because of steam too…

  Click. Click. CRACK!

  The pen blew up in her hand. Raven rubbed out the ink on some nearby napkins, and hurriedly hid the evidence beneath her heaps of papers. She then rubbed her hand three times, making sure to remove each little smudge. It worked… somewhat. The desk was no messier than it had been before.

  Raven glanced at her bedroom window. The pale sun hovered just above the skyline. Night approached. The time when Terran prowled. If they meet tonight, Raven would finish the job. There was no question. That monster couldn’t even stand on his own. She just had to find him again. That was easier said than done, of course. Despite his age, Terran still had some fighting ability. She had the claw marks on her abdomen to prove it. Now that Raven thought about it, she should get that checked out. The wound was shallow, but Terran was probably covered in disease. To think that was his actual bone. She shuddered. That thing was for sure covered in diseases. Raven would go to a doctor as soon as she had time. Whenever that would be…

  Knock. Knock.

  Raven’s mother, Kareva, stood in the doorway. The tall woman leaned against her cane. It looked like she’d fall over, but she still kept a firm gaze on Raven. She had her crescent spectacles on, the same pair the aged woman usually wore when trying to look distinguished. Just get it over with, Raven thought. You won’t be able to hide from this forever.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Raven said, hopping off her desk. She walked up to her mother, such that she blocked her messy desk from Kareva. “But next time, he will be dead. I knocked a good chunk of Terran’s armor off with one blow. Not like anyone’s going to repair it. Next time we fight, I will win.”

  Kareva entered the room. Her movements were refined and considered. Raven offered to guide Kareva to a chair but the old woman shook her head. She handed Raven a tattered newspaper. The article of interest was circled in a furious red pen: RAVEN BLACKWELL SPINS TALES TO LOCAL BOY. Raven sighed,“This is what you're mad about?”

  “I told you to relate to the people,” Kareva said. The old woman sat on the edge of Raven’s four post bed. “That doesn’t mean lying or, worse yet, gossiping with them. Honestly, Vanek’s Diner. You can’t make this stuff up.”

  “I didn’t. I go there. It's a good place.”

  “And an autograph on a napkin? What are you, one of those rock performers?”

  “People like autographs,” Raven said. “Celebrities do that all the time.”

  “We don’t,” Kareva said. She stood again. “We’re above that. Your brothers would never. They wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those eateries.” There it was. Nine sentences before Kareva mentioned her late brothers. It had to be a new record. Raven shook that last thought from her head. It was unbecoming of a Blackwell. Her brothers were heroes. Their sacrifice could not be brought up in that way. Even in thoughts. Her mother waited, as if expecting Raven to apologize. When she didn’t, the old woman gave a deep sigh. “I didn’t just come to nag you, Raven. There’s something I must tell you.”

  “What?” Her mother raised an eyebrow. Raven unslouched. “What is it, mother?”

  “Karl will be here,” she said, coming close. She whispered this as if he was standing right outside. “I thought it proper to give you a warning. You know how he can be.”

  “Karl is coming?” Raven asked in disbelief. She still remembered the day her second cousin once removed stormed out of Blackwell manor in a fit of rage. He had yelled the most vicious things. To think that he’d be back, and so soon too. “What does he want?”

  Kareva said, “He requires some of your maps for a project.”

  “But I got these from the station,” Raven said. “Karl is a citizen, technically speaking. A lot of these are for the police only. I’m not sure if it's even… legal for me to give them up.”

  “I know. I know,” Kareva said. She came near Raven, and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. Then Kareva stood erect to tower over the girl. Such a feat doubtlessly hurt her brittle bones, and Raven found herself stunned to silence. “We need to go along with it, my dear. I need Karl back in our good graces. There are so few of us Blackwells left. We must be there for each other. Besides, these are sewer maps, correct? There’s no good reason for them to be classified.”

  Raven sighed, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I am.” With that, Kareva strolled for the exit. Raven followed from her side to make sure she got out just fine. Her mother stumbled once or twice, but nothing bad happened with Raven at her side. Once at the door, Raven asked, “By the way, how advanced is that warning?”

  “He’s just down the hall.”

  “What?”

  “Just be good to him,” Kareva said. “Remember he’s family just like me.” She said that last sentence slightly louder than the previous, such that Karl was sure to hear only that part. Not that Kareva yelled or anything. It was a subtle trick, one that the average person was unlikely to notice, but a life of living with Kareva made Raven keen to these tricks. The woman gave careful thought into each and every word. How words were said was just as important as what was said. Some day, Raven too would have a mastery of this delicate art.

  Kareva went down the hall, where she reunited with her assistant. The two continued on together. Raven went back inside. Her bed was tidy. As was her dresser, and each family photograph was neatly arranged. The only messy part was her desk, but there was no fixing that now. Raven sat back down and waited.

  Within moments, Karl poked his head through the door. The kid was thin and boney. His black hair combed straight. He wore a stuffy business suit with the front untucked. Despite it being the verge of night, he wore sunglasses. It was hard to believe that the kid was only nineteen years old. He looked like they’d just dug him up from a funeral. “Hey second cuz,” he said, as if the prior months of estrangement had never happened. “How’s it hanging?”

  “It’s been fine,” Raven said. Her words and tone were both neutral, which was okay. There was no need to hide that she wasn’t thrilled to see him. Karl would be expecting that.

  “Liiiiiisten,” Karl said, really dragging out that sound in a way that he knew would annoy her. Raven clenched her fist, but kept it stuffed in her pocket. Karl couldn’t see such an aggressive gesture. He’d let Kareva know, then all hell would break loose. “You do know why I’m here, right?”

  “Sewer maps, right?

  “Bingo,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You got it?”

  “I do,” Raven said. She gestured to her desk. “It’s somewhere in that pile.”

  “Man, what a pigsty,” Karl sauntered over to the desk, dragging mud across the pristine carpet as he went. Trails must’ve been all through the manor by now. Kareva surely would have seen it. Why was she letting so much go… just for him? Were they really that desperate to keep the family together?

  Karl tossed a few of Raven’s papers aside. “You know, you really should get a guy to do this stuff for you. I’ve got a guy. He’s really nice. Sorts out all the trash for me. Never have to touch paperwork again.”

  And yet here you are, Raven so desperately wanted to say even though she couldn’t. “I can’t have a guy because I’m the only person involved in this investigation. The other officers are too loaded up with mafia stuff. Even the bureaucrats have their hands tied.”

  “Sheesh,” Karl said. “Working alone. That must be stressful.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Terran will be dealt with soon enough.”

  Karl nodded, bouncing his foot as he navigated through Raven’s tidy stack. “That Terran,” he said. “I heard he’s been going real hard on you. Escaped you twice already. And same tactic both times, no less. Steam in the eyes.” Karl did a low pssss sound, mimicking steam as he brought his hand near Raven’s face.

  She leaned back. “The steam wasn’t a problem the second time. It was all the panicked workers who stopped me in my tracks. They were all on me. I couldn’t move for half a minute. Terran got lucky. Nothing more.”

  “Maybe,” Karl shrugged. He threw more papers aside. There was now a heap of clutter on the floor. “Maybe not. I mean, I’m sure you’ll win at some point. Everyone has a weakness right?”

  Raven forced a smile. “I suppose so.”

  “Yours just so happens to be steam,” Karl said, not looking at her as he continued to riffle through her neatly arranged mess. “By the way, what was he like?”

  Raven said, “Old and disgusting.”

  “No, I mean personality wise. I dunno why, but I’ve been thinking about what he’s like. Is he a psychotic madman or more regal and elegant like a—” Karl stopped mid sentence, as he read up a small piece of paper. He broke into a foul laugh. Raven groaned. She did not miss that laugh. “No way. No freaking way.”

  The realization burned Raven. Standing tall, she tried to whisk the paper from his hands, but the kid walked off before she could. Karl read: “‘I could smell you from there.’ ‘Get a life. Wait, you can’t.’ ‘I can see you still haven’t discovered soap.’ This is a quip list, Raven. A quip list. You made an actual quip list for your fights! Oh, that is so pathetic. Kind of cute though.”

  You’re four years younger than me. Raven so desperately wanted to pin Karl against the wall and scream it in his stupid smug face, but Kareva would have her head if she tried that. “It's a necessity,” she said. “The books went at length about his ego. I figured insulting him would get him to lash out, and make him angry. Angry and sloppy. ”

  “Yeah, no,” Karl said. “This guy’s built on rage. That’s only gonna make him focus up.” He threw the quip list Raven’s way, then got back to rifling through her desk. Within seconds, he found maps of the sewers for the Skyscraper District. “There. Just what I needed. I knew you’d have it.”

  “What do you need it for?”

  “Just some stuff,” Karl said, putting the papers under his arm. “You’ll see. Within months, my startup is going to change the way you get your goods.”.

  “Wait you can’t mean…” Raven cringed internally. Delivering supplies through a sewer seemed a terrible way to do business in all sorts of ways. Either that, or a potential coverup for something nefarious. Such a thought was absurd though. Karl may be Karl, but he wasn’t a criminal. He was a Blackwell like the rest of them, if a stupid one. But that was his problem, not hers. “Just mail that back to me when you’re done. The station will want their copy back.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “Pfft,” Karl said, backing away. “You know it. Anywho, I’d love to stay and chat second cuz once gone but there are some things I gotta go do. Peace!” With that, he made his way out, leaving a separate trail of muddy tracks behind him. The door slammed behind him. The world grew still, save for the ticking of a clock.

  Raven leaned against the desk with trembling hands. She pressed her weight against it. A purple aura engulfed her arms. The wood snapped like toothpicks. Raven fell to the floor. The entire room shook. Paintings fell, picture frames went face down. The works. There was a flurry of footsteps. Within a moment, Kareva and her assistant appeared by the door. Kareva’s brow narrowed, “What have you done?”

  How? Raven thought. How’d you get here so quickly? But it made far too much sense. She never left at all. Kareva had been listening nearby. Perhaps in the next room over. She’d want to know what had happened after all. “I’m sorry,” Raven said, hopping back to her feet. “Vinye. I underestimated myself.”

  Kareva nodded to her assistant, who ran to the fallen family photographs. “You have been Gifted for twenty-three years,” Kareva said. “There is no underestimating yourself. Just for that outburst, I’m going to have you go through some of the University’s documents for me. After you clean all this up.”

  “What?”

  “Do not fight me,” Kareva said. “It’s for your own good. We have to uphold the Blackwell standard. There aren’t many of us left, remember.” She gave one last scowl of disapproval before exiting.

  The assistant ran past Raven, head hung low. She had straightened only one portrait: a photograph of Raven’s three late brothers, about to head off to war. All smiled. Delov ruffled Edlov’s hair. They looked so confident, so sure of themselves, even though they were about to face the worst horrors in the history of the planet. To think that they weren’t even Gifted.

  With a sigh, Raven got to organizing the ruined desk into one pile. Gifted speed helped, but the process seemed to take forever. There were many tiny splinters that she just left on the carpet. She wound up with a half completed pile before leaving. Her mother would be mad, but Raven knew she’d have to live with it. There was much to do, and so little time before nightfall. It paid to be on top of things.

  ***

  “Pinkov, what are you doing up there?” The boy’s mother put her hands on her hips and wagged her finger, a motion which the watching Derik found all too absurd. “Get down from that tree this instant.”

  “But I can’t,” young Pinkov yelled. He gestured to the eggs. “Their mama bird isn’t back to guard her eggs yet. She won’t be for a while. I have to protect them. It’s what good people do, right?”

  “You can have Smique watch ‘em.”

  Pinkov perked up. “So you’re saying he’s real?”

  Canned laughter erupted. The mother character covered her mouth, as if to express shock, though Derik noticed that her actress was stifling a laugh. “I… uhm, well…”

  “I can have two shares of desert then? One for me? One for him?”

  “I never said that,” the mother character stammered over herself a few times before sighing. “Fine. You can have two shares. But come down, this instant.”

  “I’ll be right down.” The canned laughter erupted once again. The camera faded to black, at long last ending that mediocre episode of Smique and Mirrors. The credits began to roll. Derik glanced at Ema, who was seated besides him on the couch. “So when’s it coming?”

  “Any moment now.” Ema leaned to the box, and rubbed her hands together. Derik found himself matching her motions, despite having no clue as to what they were waiting for. Something related to the news. That’s all Ema had said. Whatever it was, it had to be fantastic to put Ema in such a tizzy. Perhaps they put her near the start this time. Maybe they even gave a main story. Oh, that would be wonderful.

  The credits ended at last. It rolled over to the news. The logo Diveky News flashed on screen in big gray lettering. Then it showed the head anchorman, “Greetings Diveky. It’s good to speak to you all, right now, on this fine evening.”

  The line was a misnomer, Derik knew. They didn’t record these in real time (That would be absurd) but rather had prepared the hour’s news beforehand. Ema had just gotten off work an hour ago, and had rushed to his apartment since she did not have a box in her home. Whatever was about to happen, it was so important she just had to see it live with Derik. And she hadn’t let a word slip. Oh, the suspense was fatal! Just what captivated Ema so?

  “There’s a lot to get through in this hour, folks,” the anchorman said. “So how about we get right into it. Miss.Renzov, if you’ll introduce the headliners.”

  The camera cut to Ema. Derik almost didn’t recognize her. She wore the same dress she had now, though it looked far neater on the box. Her smile was wide and her hair was combed straight. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ve got two main headliners today. First, an update on Boris Tvarlato. The former mafia boss claims to be turning over a new leaf, and is opening a pizzeria in the Historical District. Our second headliner involves the recent attack at the coal plant, as the police are at last addressing these mysterious events after days of silence. And those are our headliners. Now, back to Mr. Bankov for the details.”

  The camera cut back to the head anchorman, who thanked Ema and started getting into the headliners. The real Ema ran in front of the box, fist clenched, bouncing up and down. “What did you think?”

  “Well I’ll be,” Derik gasped, leaping up. “You were wonderful!”

  She cheered. Derik cheered. They hugged, and whirled about in the center of the room, their laughter echoing off of the walls. They continued until both were dizzy, and they had to let go lest they fall over.

  Ema held onto her knees, breathing but laughing at the same time. Derik could hardly stay in one place. Ema, the headliner. It was too good to be true. She’d be known city wide. Just imagine how far she could get because of this. “How did this happen?”

  “The most recent one quit,” Ema said, running up to Derik. “Very last minute thing. They needed a new one. And I don’t know why, because I usually just say my lines and don’t do anything, but I offered to do it. And they liked my take so much, they said I could do it full time!”

  “By the gods,” Derik said. “It’s a promot-”

  “It’s a promotion!” She squeaked, then leapt into his arms. They whirled around again, laughing, until they slammed into the wall. A painting fell to the ground. The two looked at each other. They giggled, then continued to the couch, where both collapsed. They sat there, giggling, as the excitement gradually died down.

  “By my gods,” Derik repeated, running his arm through his hair. “Th-this is amazing. You, a headliner.” He had to say that aloud, just to make sure it was real. It still felt like a vague dream, one which they’d both soon wake from. “We must go out and celebrate.”

  They held each other’s hands and leaned close. They exchanged a long kiss, but Ema’s eyes grew wide when she glanced at the clock. She backed away. “I can’t.”

  “Really?” Derik said. “Not even a small celebration? We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. We can party right here. Think I have a cake mix stashed away somewhere.”

  “Afraid I can’t stay,” Ema said. She rushed back to the box, and grabbed her bag. “Now that I’m a headliner, they’re gonna need me to work more. There are meetings at six which I’ve got to attend now. I was only able to come back for this.”

  “Oh,” Derik said, trying and failing to contain his disappointment. “How about at seven then?”

  Ema moved for the exit. Derik hopped off the couch, and followed her to the kitchen. Ema said, “Afraid I can’t today. Got to fill out some workforms, move into Mirna’s old office. All that new job stuff.”

  They reached the stairwell. Derik opened the door for Ema. She went down. Derik followed, though his limp made keeping pace with Ema difficult. “Why did Mirna quit anyhow?”

  “No idea,” Ema said. “But I bet it's something about the past few cycles. News has been getting awfully depressing. First the stuff with the mafia, then those street murders, and now that coal plant owner was killed.” Pain flared in Derik’s ankle once more. All had been perfect until Ema had brought up that coal plant. The specific details were still a mystery, but Derik knew Terran was responsible. No other incidents of terror had been reported since. Terran had yet to return. With any luck, that monster was dead and gone.

  They reached the first floor metal shop. Ema had left her coat on the barren counter. Mere days ago, a zombie had sat there, one which Derik operated on. He shuddered. If he closed his eyes, Derik could still see the demon, smiling back at him even in this moment of reprieve.

  “Derik?”

  Derik jolted back to reality. “Yeah?”

  Ema asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Oh I’m sorry,” Derik said, scratching his head. “I was thinking about my schedule. Would tomorrow work? At seven?.”

  “I’m not sure,” Ema said. “They’re working us to the bone with all that’s been happening. My evening break is not that long. I could meet for half an hour at most.”

  “That’s more than enough time.” Derik limped towards the door so he could open it for Ema. She beat him to it, but waited for Derik all the same. The blacksmith said, “We can meet at that diner by the news station. I could show up ten minutes early to order for you. Does that sound good?”

  “Definitely,” Ema said. She kissed his cheek. “It’s a date.” Derik opened the door for Ema, and bid her farewell. She walked down the street, waving merilly. Derik waved back. He did not stop waving until she crossed the corner and was out of sight.

  Silence returned to the workshop. Derik looked across the room. His current metalworking project laid in a dusty bag by the far wall. The commision wasn’t due for another month, but the flurry of recent events had put Derik way behind schedule. At last, he had a free evening. It was time to work again. If he got the hilt forged tonight, he could get back on track by week’s end.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Derik glanced at the door. It must have been Ema. Perhaps she had forgotten something. Derik opened the door with a flourish, but paled when he saw the stranger on the other end. He was an inch shorter than Derik. However, he was far more muscular, especially in the biceps. He got rather lanky in the hips which made him look rather funny. His hair was greased up, and coal-black shades covered his eyes even though it was almost sunset. “Howdy.”

  This man must’ve been a customer. An enthusiastic one at that, considering that he was coming to his workshop after hours. “I’m afraid I can’t help today. We’re closed. If you come back tomorrow, I should be able to—”

  “I’m not interested in that.” The stranger put his foot in the door, such that Derik would be unable to close it. “Name’s Pisk. I’m here ‘cause our mutual friend wants you.”

  “Our…mutual friend?” Derik knew what that meant. He knew immediately. Of course he wasn’t out of this yet. Terran would always find a way to drag him in. But how did he rope someone else into his cause? What kind of blackmail did he have on a guy like this?

  “Nice place ya got,” Pisk said. He rounded under Derik to get inside. He smelled like a cross between a sewer and a corpse, and Derik had to lean against a wall to avoid fainting from the shock of it all. Pisk glanced at Derik’s unfinished project. “What are you, some kind of metal worker? Oh, I can see why our friend wants you back.”

  “I’m sorry,” Derik said. “Our friend?” The tone was flat and accusatory. Derik didn’t mean for it to sound that way. He didn’t. It just slipped out.

  Pisk stopped his gait, and stood upright. He gave a wide smile. “It’s a great dame ya got too,” he said. “Think I recognize her, in fact. I swear I do. There’s this chipmunk quality in her voice that few gals got these days. Now their voices are deep, ya know. Like the voice Pinkov does for Smique.”

  “I-I don’t follow.” Derik was unsure if he even wanted to.

  “Listen to his voice on the radio show,” Pisk said, shaking his head. “Guy like you, livin’ it up in here, you probably watch it with the box. Listen to the radio show. Actors there can actually act for somethin’. There’s this deepness to radio Smique’s voice. I dunno if the dames are imitating it, or what, but I swear you never hear a high-pitched gal who has some class.”

  This guy was spouting nonsense, but something told Derik that saying so would be the last mistake he ever made. Pisk had kept glancing at a knife holster during that rant. “I’m sure that’s true,” Derik said. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay attention to that kind of stuff.”

  “No,” Pisk said. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

  The greaser approached with clenched fists, then cornered Derik against a wall. Pisk patted the knife holster at his side. “He said you’d come willingly,” Pisk said. “But that you may need more persuading. How much you need though… that’s up to you.”

  “There’s no need,” Derik said. “I’ll come. I’ll come.”

  “Good,” Pisk said, backing off. He took a list out of his pocket and read from it. “Gather all ya gear. Metal, welding stuff, yadda yadda.” Pisk threw the list aside. “Our friend is in rough shape, and he’s gonna need to be fixed up fast. There’s a lot to do before the big day.”

  “The big day?” Derik asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothin’ ya gotta worry about.” Pisk threw the list over to Derik. “You just have to follow this list.” The more Derik read, the heavier he felt. These were Terran’s demands, no doubt. Terran’s awful morbid demands. Derik’s head spun and his hands grew clammy. It was a miracle he didn’t throw up on the spot. How could anyone, even Terran, think this way?

  “Cool it man,” Pisk yelled, rounding past Derik. “If ya get sick here, you’ll get sick down there. I mean, it's a rotting corpse and all that. Maybe you can get an air freshener. Though I doubt it’d help.”

  Derik fell back against the wall, and whipped his brow with his now clammy hand. “There’s no way,” he said. “I don’t have half of this. Where am I even supposed to get it?”

  Pisk rounded past Derik. Though far skinnier, he got the blacksmith to his feet in a moment's notice. “Simple, man,” he said, patting Derik’s back. “You and me, we’re goin’ shopping!”